


One Last Time

by duckbunny



Series: Camaraderie [12]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Asexual Character, Biting, F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Non-Sexual Kink, Platonic BDSM, act two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 14:54:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5971059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckbunny/pseuds/duckbunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He didn't dismiss my arguments. He dismissed me from his staff. He sent me home.”<br/>“No,” Laurens whispers, half-pleading. “No, Alexander, you don't mean it."</p><p>Rated M for happy fun masochism. Mind the tags.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Last Time

The duel was necessary.

Alexander has no doubts about that. Somebody had to call Lee out, and John was the one with the guts to do it. Let Washington rant; Alexander will stand his ground. They'd known what they were doing, better than the General had himself if he thought it didn't reflect on all of them – on his aides, on his entire campaign – for slanders to go unanswered.

He squares his shoulders and prepares to meet General Washington word for word.

But Washington won't do it. Washington won't do him the courtesy of treating him as a man who knows his own mind. He just dismisses him, like a child in need of correction, and Alexander can't stand it. He can't go on this way, forever at the General's side and never trusted with the least bit of responsibility. He came here to work, and if Washington cannot give him the respect due to that -

The sun is rising towards noon when the quarrel ends in disaster, and Alexander stumbles out of Washington's command tent, his eyes prickling with the brightness of the light, only with the light and never with tears.

Laurens is waiting for him, pacing nervously behind the row of little tents the General's staff sleep in. Alexander brushes past him with only a look, not trusting himself to speak where they can be seen. He needs to explain – He needs to make sure – He needs -

Laurens follows him into the tent and he must see on Alexander's face how bad this is, because he turns around and laces the flap behind him – not all the way, just a couple of loops in the middle, to stop it falling open. Then his arms are around Alexander. For several breaths, neither of them moves, until Alexander gathers his strength and pulls away, far enough to lean their foreheads together.

“Washington dismissed me,” he says thickly.

“But you knew he would,” Laurens says, reassuring, “he's done that a hundred times when he doesn't like your conclusions.”

Alexander swallows. “He didn't dismiss my arguments. He dismissed me from his staff. He sent me home.”

“No,” Laurens whispers, half-pleading. “No, Alexander, you don't mean it. He can't, you can't, we need you here. You know we do. Just apologise to him, say anything you have to, don't let him do this.”

“It's too late. It's too late. It's done.” Alexander fists his hands in Laurens' shirt, pulling him closer.

“Alexander,” he says desperately, and clings.

“Help me pack.”

“Alexander, no -”

“Help me pack, damn you,” he says fiercely, “ _help_ me, there's no time and we have to get it done so I can say goodbye to you properly, don't make me leave you without that. John, _please_.”

Too soon, Alexander's things are collected up, his clothes wadded together with no care for their creasing. He catches Laurens around the waist, leaning against his back, warm even through their clothes, and Eliza is waiting at home but he will _miss_ this, Laurens' solid heat. Laurens reaches up without being asked to undo his neckcloth and loosen his shirt. “I can't take it off,” he says wretchedly, “we're not safe enough.”

Alexander nods, his face buried in Laurens' curls. “I can bite.”

“Wait, wait, let me turn around.” Laurens twists in his arms, turning until they are face to face, their breath mingling. He pulls at the collar of his shirt, exposing his shoulders, and Alexander sinks his teeth into that beautiful smooth skin.

Laurens gasps in his ear and Alexander can feel himself trembling. He bites hard, sucking at the skin between his teeth, keeping up the pressure until Laurens' whimpers break into open-mouthed panting. Then he lifts away, clutching at Laurens for dear life, until he has enough breath to do it again, an inch further along.

He leaves angry red blotches on top of both shoulders, framed in the deep dents left by his teeth. Then he goes back to the spot halfway along, exactly where the strap of a pack would sit, and bites down again, hard enough he can almost hear the flesh bruising under the skin. John is going to remember him every time he carries a satchel, every time he puts his coat on. By the time he stops they're both whimpering and Alexander can't tell whose noises are whose.

Laurens collapses forward onto him when he's done, resting his head on Alexander's shoulder. Alexander strokes his hair, not enough in control of himself to dare to pull it. “Promise me,” he says unsteadily. “Go to Lafayette.”

Laurens shakes his head, his fingers tightening on Alexander's ribs. “I need _you_.”

“John, oh God, John, I don't want to leave you. I don't want to think of you eaten up with this, I don't _care_ who it is, just please, someone. Something better than brawling, for God's sake. Please, love.”

“ _Stay_ ,” Laurens says desperately, and Alexander trembles in his arms.

 

**

 

When Alexander is recalled to fight at Yorktown, Laurens is already in South Carolina.

He does not return.

 

**

 

Eliza is a gift. When Alexander wakes at night, his pillow wet with tears, she understands. When he will not come to bed, instead scrawling out long letters he cannot bear for her to read, she forgives. She tries to do more, once, pulling him down to her bare shoulder and asking him to bite, but it cannot work; she faces it with bravery, not pleasure, and he quickly abandons it, kissing her soft neck to hide the disappointment she does not deserve.

It is better to know. She is right about that.

 

**

 

The years dull Alexander's memory. He recalls what happened, of course he does, but time blurs the edges, makes him forget exactly how Laurens sounded, how it felt to shake with his own reaction to their games.

Maria Reynolds reminds him, and she is not shy about her pleasure in it. He relearns how good it feels to bite. He discovers how much more careful he must be with leaving marks, if they are to be concealed under women's clothing. He never uses more than his hands on her, but he does not mourn the lack. She is not John; she is not Eliza. She is enough.

 

**

 

There is Jefferson. There is Madison. They are not kind.

 

**

 

When he loses Eliza, he loses Maria, too. It was justified. It was _necessary_.

He wakes in the loneliness of his office from a dream so vivid he can taste it. He was together with Laurens in the sunlight, curled together in the dry grass, and they were not afraid. He had his hand in Laurens' hair, his teeth in his soft tanned throat, bared in beautiful surrender, and the noises Laurens made still ring in his waking ears.

Alexander learns he is not yet done with tears.

 

**

 

John Laurens leads a soldier's chorus on the other side. Alexander has waited so long to hear that voice again.

He has never learned to take his time.

**Author's Note:**

> And that is the last of Camaraderie, chronologically. There may well be more fics slotting into existing gaps, but here is the end for Alexander and Laurens, those beautiful kinky boys and their beautiful kinky relationship.


End file.
